


Sidequest: Windhelm

by FLHargrove



Series: Sidequest [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/F, Masturbation, Plot that sometimes has porn, Skyrim without the Dragonborn, Windhelm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 02:15:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16420445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FLHargrove/pseuds/FLHargrove
Summary: Fresh off the boat, Dunmer spellsword Thradra N'Tir finds she has escaped one hostile environment and just landed in a new hostile environment.  Her new life in Windhelm will not be without extremes as she explores murder, dungeons, love, sex, racism and sorrow.





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the current playthrough of The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim that I am going through. I'm merely adding elements here and there and adding in a romance that isn't normally an option. The game is also heavily modded and there may be mention of mods such as player homes, followers, small quests, or even weapons.

The ship crept into the Windhelm docks at a slow pace, gently sailing into one of the empty docks. It was almost overloaded, and not with cargo. The Nords standing at the docks saw the wine red eyes and dusky grey skins of passengers that clung to the railings of the galleon. They were packed tight as they tried to make room for the ship's crew. They weren't here by choice, mind you, they were escaping the devastation of Red Mountain's eruption. Most of the Nords gave the Dunmer looks of disgust, but there was a few who held sympathetic appearances. Standing in front of the gathered crowd was Ulfric Stormcloak, the Jarl of Windhelm and leader of the Stormcloak rebellion.

Dock hands worked to tie down the ship as it anchored. Gangplanks were released and gates opened. One deck hand shouted out as he stepped forward, warning the Dunmer to take care as they exited, not to rush. They wouldn't be rushing at any rate, they were so tired from the long journey. One Dunmer, a man with short cropped hair and a well kept beard, walked at the head of the crowd and approached Ulfric. The two spoke quietly for a moment before the Dunmer turned to the crowd behind him and informed them all that they would be escorted to the Grey Quarter. There was a mix of sighs of relief and groans of defeat as guards began to escort the group.

Among them was a young Dunmer woman. A cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders and hood pulled up over her head. Unlike the usual red or black hair of the Dunmer, this woman's shock white hair could be see from under the hood. She carried a small satchel which seemed to contain all her worldly possessions. The only weapon she carried on her person was a small flintlock pistol, tucked into her belt of her leathers. She walked along the outside edge of the crowd but followed closely. She looked at the gathered crowd of Nords and felt as though she was part of some freak show. The looks of disgust and hatred were more than evident among the Nord faces. But every so often in the crowd, the young woman saw the dark grey skin of a Dunmer. Some looked on with hope, some with worry, others with kindness.

“This one will do,” the young woman heard as she felt a strong hand grasp her arm. She looked up to the face of a grim looking Dunmer man. He looked as though he held some sort of station here as he dressed in fine robes. She flinched as he pushed back her hood, her medium length hair flowed in the wind. “And white hair, exotic,” the man said with a grin as his red eyes seemed to glisten. Everything about this man filled the woman with disgust and a hint of fear. “What's your name, deary.”

Thradra N'Tir was never one to suffer fools or creeps lightly. She pulled her arm back from the man forcefully, making him release his grasp. “Get your fucking hands off me,” she hissed at him.

“Oh, this one's got spunk,” the man merely said with a widening grin. “She'll do fine. My Nord clients will like you.”

“I've got something you'll like,” Thradra replied as she instinctively reached for her pistol. While the man could see it, it still remained hidden as two guards approached. One of them, a tall woman who's features were covered by the standard issue helmet, bumped Thradra's shoulder as she approached. Thradra holstered the pistol quickly.

“Is there a problem?” the other guard said as the woman stood firmly beside Thradra.

“Just recruiting a prospective employee,” the man replied.

“We're aware of how you recruit, Annmar,” the woman replied. “And just what you recruit for.” Thradra hadn't seen it at first, but behind the man stood two Dunmer women. They weren't dressed for the weather, that was for sure, but what struck Thradra the most was the complete look of loss and failure that these two held in their eyes. And then Thradra saw the collars around their necks and her blood began to boil.

“Did you force them to ... to join you?” Thradra spat back at the Dunmer man, slowly realizing exactly what this man was recruiting for. Thradra felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see the guard, the woman, pushing her along gently. The woman's eyes still looked to the Dunmer previously called Anmar.

“Just move along,” the woman said. “We'll take you to a hospice in the Grey Quarter. It won't be much but it'll be better than sleeping in the snow.” The other guard stepped in front of Anmar as the woman and Thradra moved along. The two said not a word as they entered the gates to Windhelm. The other guard soon joined them, having acted as a minor shield. The three walked down the narrow pathways until they arrived at the front door of an old building. It appeared to be renovated, but in a more roughshod manner. “This is it,” the woman said as she took off her helmet. Taller than Thradra, she had chiseled features framed with jet black hair that was tied in a loose bun.

“It's better than nothing,” Thradra said with a sigh. “I take it that man is a common feature here in Windhelm?”

“He is,” the man snorted with disgust. “He's been here for years and takes women like yourself. Puts them up in his house and sets them up with appointments with nobility. At first, he tries to sweet talk prospective girls, tells them he'll give them food and shelter. By the time they start seeing clients, it's too late for them to get out. They're fully dependent on him.”

“It doesn't help that four of his past clients have all been victims of the serial killer,” the woman added.

“Serial killer?” Thradra replied with shock. “What am I getting myself into?”

“Don't worry,” the woman replied as she shook her head. “Keep your nose clean, don't get into the skooma and find yourself some work. You'll be fine. And if you need, just ask for us. I'm Inga, this is Ole.” The man nodded as he removed his helmet, his features equally chiseled with the addition of a full beard.

“Thradra,” the young Dunmer woman replied. She only nodded as the two guards moved on, continuing their rounds. As for Thradra, she opened the door to the small building and stepped inside.

It wasn't so much a hospice as it was a tavern. She should have known after reading the name plate above the doorway; New Gnisis Cornerclub. Inside there was a few patrons; two sisters sitting at a table in a far corner; two Dunmer children playing a game on the floor; a couple of men at the counter discussing the day's events while a tired barkeep cleaned glasses; an older Dunmer woman off in a corner reading a book while a cup of tea steeped on a nearby table.

But the one who stuck out like a sore thumb was the strawberry blonde Altmer who stood near the doorway. A bit taller than Thradra, the two women looked at each other for a moment, but Thradra had nothing to say at the moment. Apparently the Altmer woman didn't either and said nothing as Thradra moved toward the counter.

“Evening, sera,” the barkeep said in a tired tone. “What can I do for you this evening?”

Thradra placed her right hand on the counter as she spoke in a soft tone, not sure what to expect of any reaction. “I need a place to sleep. Maybe for a few days.”

The barkeep sighed with a bit of a sympathetic smile. “Just come off the boat, did you? Well, we've not got beds like at Candlehearth Hall. Best I can offer you is a bedroll in the back behind the bar, under the stairwell.”

Thradra thought about this for a moment. She's slept in far worse conditions than that, and she'd be out of the cold. At least out of the wind. “How much?”

“I'll tell you what,” the barkeep began, knowing full well that Thradra wouldn't give up. “Five gold for the month, and if you can do a few odd jobs around the club, then it's yours.”

Thradra reached into the satchel on her left hip with her right hand and seemed to struggle with her cloak for a moment. Finally she dug out 20 septims and placed them on the counter. “Four months worth?”

The barkeeper looked to the coins then back to Thradra. “You still have some for food? Drink?” Thradra nodded quietly. “Alright, then. What are you good at?”

“I'm... a healer,” Thradra began. “I've studied restoration magic. I also have studied conjuration, but I just use that to make weapons and only if I need to defend myself. I'm skilled with alchemy, mostly stimulants. I've never dabbled with poisons.”

“Well that's good to know,” the bartender said with a slight chuckle. “You looked to be having trouble with the arm? Is everything alright, or is there something I should know about.” Thradra blinked in reply, then slowly reached up with her right hand to push back the cloak from her left shoulder. Her arm, or at least what was acting as her arm, appeared to be a prosthetic of some kind. It looked to be Dwemer in design, but there looked to be a few modifications. The barkeep perked an eyebrow, but didn't flinch. “I expect losing the arm to gain that wasn't pleasant.”

“No, it wasn't,” Thradra stated. “An old Khajiit archeologist and professor of Dwemer antiquities helped me build it. Named Grifter. He taught me how to craft pistols.” She pointed to the flintlock holstered at her hip. To demonstrate that the arm worked as well as a regular arm, she lifted her left arm, let it bend at the elbow and reached across with the two finger and one thumb appendages and picked up a glass with ease. She held it up and looked it over, the prosthetic turning it as would someone with a normal hand and arm. “It's not perfect, but it works just as well.” Thradra suddenly realized that most people's eyes were drawn her way. Now she suddenly stuck out like a sore thumb. She carefully set the glass down and pulled the cloak back over her shoulder, hiding her prosthetic.

“Name's Ambarys Rendar,” the barkeep said. “Just call me Ambarys.”

“Thradra N'Tir,” she replied. “Thradra's fine.”

“Well, Thradra,” Ambarys said as he offered her a kind smile. “Consider yourself with a roof over your head. Or at least a bedroll to lay on.”

 


	2. Odd Jobs and Heavy Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thradra finds her new life in Windhelm rather mundane at times. But there's a bard at Candlehearth Hall that's grabbed her attention.

The next two weeks was  a long two weeks. It wasn’t boring, just filled with all of the odd jobs Ambarys had given to Thradra. Routine deliveries, cleaning at the Cornerclub, repair work to be done, and even tending to some of the refugees who had fallen ill.  Thradra had become a jack of all trades as she had experience around tools and her own magical abilities.

Her evenings were her own.  Often she would explore Windhelm, getting to odd look of disgust passed in her direction from the Nords, but every so often there was one or two who seemed much more friendly. Nilsine Shatter-Shield was one such person.  She seemed more out of sorts than anything as she was still dealing with the loss of her twin sister. Then there was Viola who seemed to be searching for information about the serial killer in Windhelm, warning Thradra to keep her guard and stay on alert.

Then there was Luaffyn, the bard who played in Candlehearth Hall.  Candleheart Hall was the more popular of the two taverns in Windhelm, and seemed to be better suited to an actually inn.  And there on the top floor was a Dunmer bard named Luaffyn.

To say Thradra was smitten upon first seeing this woman was rather an understatement.  The pretty bard’s red hair seemed to be brushed back with her fingers than actually using a comb, but it only added to the woman’s already attractive features.  Her voice was soft and when she sang it sounded so clear to Thradra. As if there was no one else in the room.

On some night, Thradra would steal away time just to listen to Luaffyn play, an ale nearby as she would sit by the fire.  The looks from the Nords were all but forgotten when Thradra listened to her. Whenever Luaffyn took a break, Thradra would scan the tavern.  Some of the Nords still gave the young bard the same looks they’d give to Thradra. And of course there was Rolf who had no problem at all voicing his disgusting opinions about Grey Skins.  She could see the nervous looks that Luaffyn and another Dunmer woman who frequented the bar gave whenever he was around. Even the owner of Candleheart, Elda Early-Dawn, was vocal with her distaste for Dunmer even though she knew practically nothing about them.

Still, for Thradra, whenever Luaffyn played all of that disappeared.  Her only regret was that she would have to return to her bedroll in the Cornerclub. The walk back was a mix of emotions; her thoughts always drifting back to the voice of Luaffyn mixed with the feeling of the bitter cold of a Windhelm night.  The only true joy she got out of walking outside at night was sight of the northern lights. They danced with colours so vivid and she’d imagine that the lights danced as Luaffyn sang.

Those thoughts were pushed back as Thradra entered the Cornerclub.  From the sights to the sounds to the smells, it brought her crashing back to reality.  Ambarys looked up from the counter as she entered and waved her over. “Thradra! We got ash yams in from Raven Rock.  The cook’s made up a batch of horker and ash yam stew. Care for some?”

Thradra thought for a moment, then nodded with a smile.  “Haven’t had that in a while. Not since before I got on that damn boat.”  Ambarys chuckled and banged on the wall to get the cook’s attention as he told him to mix up another bowl for Thradra.  She moved off to corner talbe and took a seat, removing her cloak before she began undoing the buckles of her prosthetic that attached to her arm.  As she waited for her meal, she took out a small tool kit so she could begin making small repairs to her prosthetic.

She paused as she reached over to rub the stump of what remained of her left arm, the memories of the event that she lost it flooding back.  It was an attack by the Morag Tong. She had no business with the target they were after, she was just an innocent bystander. She’d held up her arm on instinct as an assassin swung his blade at her.  Ironically, severing her arm actually saved her for the blade would have carved her head off had she not tried to defend herself. Still, the blade left a scar along the left side of her face from the corner of her mouth up to her ear.  It had healed, but every so often it still stung.

That was when she met Grifter Burnside and his wife Mirri.  Grifter was a khajiit very different from other khajiit. From the way he talked to the way he held himself.  He didn’t speak of mercantile efforts, but of the history of the Dwemer. He was a scholar, an archaeologist and an inventor.  It was he who crafted her prosthetic and taught her how to make pistols. Thradra wondered for a moment if Grifter had made his was to Skyrim with Mirri and their son.  Perhaps they were in Markarth.

She was brought back to reality as Ambarys brought around her bowl of horker and ash yam stew.  He looked over the items Thradra had spread out on the table briefly before he spoke. “We actually got some decent spices to mix with the stew.  The khajiit caravan is parked out by the stables. You should check with them if they have any alchemical ingredients.” He smiled as Thradra nodded her thanks and pulled the bowl closer.  “Uh… you need a hand with any of this…” He stopped and pinched the bridge of his nose as he just realized what he said. “I apologize, that was terrible of me. I didn’t mean for it to sound like that.”

Thradra chuckled and shook her head.  “It’s alright, I can tell the difference between something said for a laugh and something that was just a slip.”  She motioned to her prosthetic before she began to shovel some stew into her mouth, taking care to swallow before speaking again.  “I’ve had this for a few years now. I’ve gotten pretty good at maintaining it. Having an extra arm would help, but then that would defeat the purpose of the prosthetic.”

Ambarys studied the device with interest and then looked to Thradra.  “You mind?” he asked motioning to a chair. Thradra shook her head as she took another spoonful of stew.  Ambarys sat down and took a closer look at the prosthetic. “Wonderful craftsmanship, this. And it acts like a real arm?”

“It does,” Thradra replied with a nod.  “It only has the three appendages, though.  I’d like to build a new version, one that has four fingers and a thumb.  Want to see if I can pick up the lute again.”

“You used to play?”

Thradra nodded as she ate some more, swallowing before answering.  “Right up until I lost my arm. That was probably the most devastating thing for me about the whole affair.”

“Is that…” Ambarys said as he looked closer.  “Is that a soul gem?”

“I place soul gems in the mechanics of the forearm,” Thradra said without any hesitation.  “Helps me cast restoration spells. One gem usually lasts me about two months, depending on how much magic I’m passing through it.  Which does remind me, I’m down to three soul gems, all of them common. Need to find a grand one, they usually last longer.”

“I’ll keep an ear out,” Ambarys said with a smile.  “For now, back to it. I’ll leave you to your meal.”  Thradra nodded with a smile as Ambarys went back to his business.  She didn’t ask much about his personal life, but she was pretty sure he and the cook were an item.  Just the way they spoke at times it seemed very much like the teasing of a married couple than the bickering of coworkers.

Her meal finished, Thradra set about making what repairs she needed to her prosthetic.  There wasn’t much; a few screws to be tightened, joints to be oiled and checking the soul gem.  Once she was done, she returned her empty bowl to the counter and picked up her things from the table.  It was time for sleep. No need to put the prosthetic back on until morning.

As she lay down on her bedroll, her thoughts drifted back to Luaffyn.  Of all the things Thradra had done in her life, building up the courage seemed the most difficult thing in the world.  As she slipped under the covers of her bedroll she chastised herself quietly. Such a thing was so frivolous, she needn’t worry about such things.

But still, she felt herself blush at the mere thought of the Dunmer bard.  It was actually arousing her a great deal. She felt flush and warm as she lay back on the bedroll.   _ Maybe, just maybe… _ she thought to herself before quickly shaking her head.  But the thoughts were still there and at this rate she wouldn’t get any sleep.  Her eyes quickly looked around the small room. No one was there, more the better.

She pulled up the bedroll close as her left hand went underneath the covers.  It felt dangerous what she was doing, so close to other people, albeit in another room.  But this was the only way she felt she could get the thoughts out of her mind. She moaned softly as her fingers pressed gently between her legs.  She was wet, that much was apparent. The thoughts she’d had obviously were incredibly strong.

Her breathing became heavier as she gently rubbed and plunged her fingers inside herself.  She pressed her lips tightly together, trying hard to keep any noises down to a small squeak or whisper.  Her carnal thoughts of the young bard drove her as she continued to pleasure herself.

Thradra let out a heavy sigh as her body tensed, feeling the rush of her orgasm.  She quietly whispered to herself with the release, “...oh Luaffyn… if only…” She breathed heavily as she lay back in her bedroll.  For now, this would have to do. Perhaps another day she’d get the courage to speak with the young woman. And who knows what that would reveal. For now sleep was best.  Tomorrow was another day, after all. Who knew what would come of it.

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter uses and mentions the mod flintlock pistol v2 (NO DAWNGUARD NEEDED) which can be found on Steam (just a warning before rushing off to get the mod, this is an overpowered weapon, as it's one shot one kill even on dragons, I only use it for colour... fortunately there's a v1 of the mod that isn't one shot one kill and you have to craft bullets for it).
> 
> There's no amputation mod for this story. I just decided Thradra would have lost her left arm.


End file.
